


stars shining bright above you

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Greek Mythology
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 22:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20628314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: All at once, Dionysus remembers the fig wood he'd been carving to keep his promise to Prosymnus.





	stars shining bright above you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HgBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HgBird/gifts).

> HAP BORTH, RAY!!

It's nights like these he loves most: when Persephone returns to her lover and Demeter begins to grieve. The days are hot and long, but the nights are cool against his skin.

His maenads are celebrating in the trees. He hears them singing and laughing gayly, dancing just out of the corner of his eye in the firelight.

Usually, Dionysus would join them, but tonight he's in no mood for dancing. The stars call to him instead, begging in their vanity to worship them with his eyes. Dionysus obliges but only because he's an equal to them, a god among the stars. It's the only place where he can still see Ampelus, gathering grapes in the constellation Vindemitor.

He aches for the satyr now -- the handsome set of his jaw, the soft twists of his curls, the crinkles of his eyes. His lips were soft, Dionysus remembers, softer still on the inside of his thighs. Dionysus opens his legs at the memory.

His body is warm beside the fire, his skin flushed with wine. He hears one of his maenads shriek with delight and he feels her joy. Ampelus shines above him, bits of eager fire. 

All at once, Dionysus remembers the fig wood he'd been carving to keep his promise to Prosymnus. The man had guided him through the bottomless pool in the Argolid to reach his mother. In return, he had asked Dionysus to make love to him. But Prosymnus had died before Dionysus could return.

Still, the god is true to his word. He's smoothed and oiled a bit of fig wood to fulfill his promise and he's set to fulfill the ritual in a few days' time.  Prosymnus' grave is somewhere in the Argolid and Dionysus is determined to find it. 

Dionysus reaches for his satchel now, struggling against the heaviness of his limbs. The cool night air brings him to life and he slides an inch or so away from the fire. He sets the satchel on his lap and rifles through it.

The fig wood is long and rounded at the top, no more than two inches in diameter. When he was carving it, Hermes had asked him if he was making a spear. Dionysus had laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughs now, too, resting his head down against his sheepskin. Ampelus laughs with him, stars flashing bright.

He removes his amphora from the satchel and pours a bit of olive oil gracefully over himself. He sets the bag and amphora aside. All at once, his breath feels heavier. The maenads are louder. Their voices excite him.

For an embarrassing moment, he isn't sure what to do with his hands. Not because he isn't familiar with making love to himself but because he isn't sure where to start first. His hand palms at his hardening cock the way he likes it, cupping his fingers just-so beneath the head. A shudder rolls through him.

He reaches down with the other hand, the pads of his fingers rubbing the oil into his skin. He lets one finger dip inside, but not much. It's a tease, but a necessary one. He remembers Ampelus' face when he'd broken his promise to give him only pleasure and he hasn't forgiven himself for it since despite the satyr's soft kisses.

He takes his time. The drag of his long fingers inside himself accompany the toe-curling twists of his hand on his cock.

The maenads have come to watch him. They don't touch. They know he'll ask if he wants them to. And although the fig wood isn't yet meant for a ritual it feels like one when Dionysus slides it carefully inside.

The pressure, the ache of it, Ameplus' constellation above him. It's all too much. But he's the god of Too Much and so he takes it with open thighs and an open mouth, listening to the maenads croon around him. It's a hymn, he thinks, but the wine makes it hard to tell, and he's more focused on their eyes than their words. The stars are watching him, too, his hands pulling and pushing.

He doesn't know when he starts to moan, but when he does the maenads touch themselves. He sees it out of the corner of his eyes, his skin flushed hot beside the fire. They've circled him, watching watching watching as he slides the fig wood deeper and his hand squeezes at his cock in faster pulls. His head turns to one side, but he can still feel the stars' eyes on him. All of their eyes.

He slows down, tightening his grip. It's almost painful, but it's just the way he likes it. There's a hot pressure where he's driving the fig wood at a punishing pace and the contrast with the slow, careful twist of his hand on the tip of his cock is making his hips jerk.

The maenads begin to frenzy and Dionysus opens his mouth. He feels the memory of Ampelus on him, the hair of his thighs bracketing Dionysus' hips, the sweet curve his smile, the abandon of his curls, the sounds he made.

"My lord," Ampelus had gasped. "My love."

Dionysus opens his eyes and shudders in blissful release.

The maenads mimic his voice.

He slides the fig wood out carefully and sets it down on the sheepskin. His stomach is sticky and his thighs are coated in oil. He lays there for a few moments, coming down, before he stands. The maenads cover him with a robe. He doesn't wipe himself off. Instead, he licks a stripe of cum and oil from his hand and begins, like the others, to dance.


End file.
